Some people just have all the skills when it comes to adding the nifty little details that make something interesting to look at. That is how I feel about Magda Bolinska's work. I never tire of roving my eyes all over her pages to see how she placed the details. It is always brilliant. And always done in a way I would never have thought of!
I love how she's torn the trim pieces to make them look a bit like washi tape! And her layers of paint are always beautifully added texture.
I've tried mimicking the 'stamped off' look but I'm not so sure that I manage to pull it off quite like she does. Love it here with the phrase 'lots of hugs'.
I hope you are just as inspired by her layout as I am. She's used the Moment's collection to great effect!
I think my favorite thing about this collection is that you can just use a bit of here and a bit of it there, it often provides the perfect little accent.
And now, back to my story.........
I shared yesterday that I went to my dad with what had happened to me. The most unfortunate thing about that was the fact that he did nothing. I can't remember exactly, but my impression is one of dismissal. I believe that I actually blocked some of that memory because it was so painful.
It had taken a lot of courage to tell him what was happening and for him to be unconcerned broke my heart. It was many many years later that I realized the story I'd always told my husband about that day was completely false. It was a story I had concocted in my mind of what I would have wanted my father to do, but it was not the truth.
For years, I told myself and a few trusted friends that on the day I told my dad of Pop's indiscretions, he'd gone immediately to the man's house with a gun to confront him and that Pop had dropped dead of a heart attack. In hindsight, it sounds so foolish, but for many years, I convinced myself that it was the truth. I wanted so badly to believe that my daddy would protect me and so I created a story that made me feel safe and loved.
Having remembered the truth, I also remember feeling utterly confused that my father would not protect me in any way from the things that were happening to me. But there was more he would do very soon.
On Mother's Day, 1982, I woke up to cut some beautiful blooms from our rose garden for my mother's present. She always loved the roses so well and I loved to cut a few choice blossoms for her vases. I woke up very early to go out into the dew covered garden and choose just the right stems to show mama how much I loved her. I was so proud of my choices.
When I came in to present my offering, Mama didn't seem quite right. I gave her the roses and her present and asked after daddy. 'Where is daddy?' I wondered.
"He's gone. For good", she said.
I can still feel the finality of that statement. The gravity. The utter devastation. My daddy was my world and I couldn't even imagine life without him. I trailed behind him everywhere he went. I loved to listen to his stories again and again. I was so proud to hold his box of nails as he hammered together a new chicken coop, or drop seeds into the holes he'd placed in our perfectly plowed garden plot. I would melt from a look from my daddy. When he told me he loved me, it was pure bliss. When he picked me up in his arms, even better. I really didn't care what he was doing, if he'd let me be with him while he did it, I was content.
And now, he was gone. He'd left my mama and me alone, on Mother's Day. I can still see the photo my mother took of me that day. She always took a photo of us kids with the gifts we'd presented to her. I had a look of utter dejection and that is exactly how I felt.
I guess I'll have to backtrack a bit to tell you the next installment but we'll make it work. Thanks for taking this journey with me and have a blessed day.